Free A Camp Edson Christmas by Cynthia Davis Page A

the camp. The kids were rowdy, the
staff was weary, and unless something pretty miraculous happened
pretty fast, anyone heading expectantly toward the Douglas fir in
the lodge tomorrow morning would be on their way toward a big
disappointment.
    A single drop of icy wet precipitation hit
Christina’s face as she headed up the path to the lodge. She
frowned, wiping her forehead in disgust. That’s all we need ,
she mentally grumbled. Her frown deepened at the sight of the
stooped figure pushing a broom aimlessly across the floor of the
screen porch, eyes downcast as though studying the assembling dirt.
Ostensibly the volunteer janitor for the week, Mr. Engal performed
a continuous circuit of sweeping witnessed by multiple sources at
all hours of the day and night. Adding to the growing body of
rumors and lore was the fact that no one had caught so much as a
glimpse of his face.
    Christina skirted past the old man and made a
beeline for the kitchen entrance to the lodge, the large L-shaped
cabin that was the hub of activity at Camp Edson. Anna, the cook
with a heart as large as her ample Italian frame, was sliding a
tray of cookies into a large, industrial oven as the door slammed,
announcing Christina’s entrance.
    “It’s a Christmas miracle,” Anna was saying,
thumb pressed against her fingers in as she waved her arm in an
expansive gesture.
    “Well,” Meg said, “They’re going to call back
to confirm, but it certainly seems like it.” She tossed her sleek
auburn ponytail over her shoulder, scribbling something on a note
pad. Although her tone was cautious, Christina could tell by her
expression that she’d located an eleventh-hour source for donated
Christmas gifts. Finding an organization with gifts left to give
had proven to be the bane of Christmas Camp. The church down the
road sent volunteers and vitamins, but not a single video. Social
Services sent sandwiches, but seemed fresh out of shirts and socks.
At lunch there’d been a rumor of a Women’s Guild with a few
leftover gifts from their annual Presents for People drive, but the
lead ran cold when the organization’s founder delivered nothing but
tidings of meager membership and feeble funding.
    Christina gave a gasp of excitement at the
news. Clothes and toys for the campers, and all in time for
Christmas morning! She could leave Christmas Camp with a happy
ending. Relieved and happy, she took a deep breath, savoring the
smell of Anna’s roasting turkey. The cook was preparing a big
Christmas Eve meal, after which she, and most of the rest of the
volunteer staff would head home to celebrate Christmas with their
families. Thoughts of turkey and mashed potatoes for the road and
dessert waiting at home seemed a fitting finale to the rocky
week.
    Christina peered over the long counter which
separated the kitchen from the lounge, the gigantic living room
that was the center of social life at Camp Edson. Michael had just
returned from the attic, laden with ornament-filled boxes into
which the campers dove with glee. Christina watched as Dee, the
former troubled camper she helped find a home with her aunt and
uncle, patiently guided the younger kids’ ornament-clutching fists
to the tree’s upper branches. Wavy brown hair pulled back with a
silk scarf complimenting her mocha-toned skin, Dee bore little
resemblance to the scared and scarred child Christina met her first
summer at camp. Christina briefly wondered if any of the current
batch of Christmas campers had similar potential, but her thoughts
darkened as the broom-pushing janitor swept his way across her line
of vision.
    “Again with the broom! What’s with this guy?”
Christina exclaimed in irritation. Anna’s mouth went into a flat
line as she shook her head. “He’s just doing his job, dear,” she
soothed.
    “Aren’t janitors supposed to come with, you
know, a range of skills? And if sweeping is his specialty, where
was he this afternoon in the craft cabin?” Christina countered